Behind A Mask, Louisa May Alcott [rosie project txt] 📗

air of an insulted princess; but Coventry did not, and Jean feigned not to see her go. Bella was fast asleep, and before he knew how it came to pass, the young man was listening to the story of his companion’s life. A sad tale, told with wonderful skill, for soon he was absorbed in it. The basket slid unobserved from his knee, the dog was pushed away, and, leaning forward, he listened eagerly as the girl’s low voice recounted all the hardships, loneliness, and grief of her short life. In the midst of a touching episode she started, stopped, and looked straight before her, with an intent expression which changed to one of intense contempt, and her eye turned to Coventry’s, as she said, pointing to the window behind him, “We are watched.”

“By whom?” he demanded, starting up angrily.

“Hush, say nothing, let it pass. I am used to it.”

“But I am not, and I’ll not submit to it. Who was it, Jean?” he answered hotly.

She smiled significantly at a knot of rose-colored ribbon, which a little gust was blowing toward them along the terrace. A black frown darkened the young man’s face as he sprang out of the long window and went rapidly out of sight, scrutinizing each green nook as he passed. Jean laughed quietly as she watched him, and said softly to herself, with her eyes on the fluttering ribbon, “That was a fortunate accident, and a happy inspiration. Yes, my dear Mrs. Dean, you will find that playing the spy will only get your mistress as well as yourself into trouble. You would not be warned, and you must take the consequences, reluctant as I am to injure a worthy creature like yourself.”

Soon Coventry was heard returning. Jean listened with suspended breath to catch his first words, for he was not alone.

“Since you insist that it was you and not your mistress, I let it pass, although I still have my suspicions. Tell Miss Beaufort I desire to see her for a few moments in the library. Now go, Dean, and be careful for the future, if you wish to stay in my house.”

The maid retired, and the young man came in looking both ireful and stern.

“I wish I had said nothing, but I was startled, and spoke involuntarily. Now you are angry, and I have made fresh trouble for poor Miss Lucia. Forgive me as I forgive her, and let it pass. I have learned to bear this surveillance, and pity her causeless jealousy,” said Jean, with a self-reproachful air.

“I will forgive the dishonorable act, but I cannot forget it, and I intend to put a stop to it. I am not betrothed to my cousin, as I told you once, but you, like all the rest, seem bent on believing that I am. Hitherto I have cared too little about the matter to settle it, but now I shall prove beyond all doubt that I am free.”

As he uttered the last word, Coventry cast on Jean a look that affected her strangely. She grew pale, her work dropped on her lap, and her eyes rose to his, with an eager, questioning expression, which slowly changed to one of mingled pain and pity, as she turned her face away, murmuring in a tone of tender sorrow, “Poor Lucia, who will comfort her?”

For a moment Coventry stood silent, as if weighing some fateful purpose in his mind. As Jean’s rapt sigh of compassion reached his ear, he had echoed it within himself, and half repented of his resolution; then his eye rested on the girl before him looking so lonely in her sweet sympathy for another that his heart yearned toward her. Sudden fire shot into his eye, sudden warmth replaced the cold sternness of his face, and his steady voice faltered suddenly, as he said, very low, yet very earnestly, “Jean, I have tried to love her, but I cannot. Ought I to deceive her, and make myself miserable to please my family?”

“She is beautiful and good, and loves you tenderly; is there no hope for her?” asked Jean, still pale, but very quiet, though she held one hand against her heart, as if to still or hide its rapid beating.

“None,” answered Coventry.

“But can you not learn to love her? Your will is strong, and most men would not find it a hard task.”

“I cannot, for something stronger than my own will controls me.”

“What is that?” And Jean’s dark eyes were fixed upon him, full of innocent wonder.

His fell, and he said hastily, “I dare not tell you yet.”

“Pardon! I should not have asked. Do not consult me in this matter; I am not the person to advise you. I can only say that it seems to me as if any man with an empty heart would be glad to have so beautiful a woman as your cousin.”

“My heart is not empty,” began Coventry, drawing a step nearer, and speaking in a passionate voice. “Jean, I must speak; hear me. I cannot love my cousin, because I love you.”

“Stop!” And Jean sprang up with a commanding gesture. “I will not hear you while any promise binds you to another. Remember your mother’s wishes, Lucia’s hopes, Edward’s last words, your own pride, my humble lot. You forget yourself, Mr. Coventry. Think well before you speak, weigh the cost of this act, and recollect who I am before you insult me by any transient passion, any false vows.”

“I have thought, I do weigh the cost, and I swear that I desire to woo you as humbly, honestly as I would any lady in the land. You speak of my pride. Do I stoop in loving my equal in rank? You speak of your lowly lot, but poverty is no disgrace, and the courage with which you bear it makes it beautiful. I should have broken with Lucia before I spoke, but I could not control myself. My mother loves you, and will be happy in my happiness. Edward must forgive me, for I have tried to do my best, but love is irresistible. Tell me, Jean, is there any hope for me?”

He had seized her hand and was speaking impetuously, with ardent face and tender tone, but no answer came, for as Jean turned her eloquent countenance toward him, full of maiden shame and timid love, Dean’s prim figure appeared at the door, and her harsh voice broke the momentary silence, saying, sternly, “Miss Beaufort is waiting for you, sir.”

“Go, go at once, and be kind, for my sake, Gerald,” whispered Jean, far he stood as if deaf and blind to everything but her voice, her face.

As she drew his head down to whisper, her cheek touched his, and regardless of Dean, he kissed it, passionately, whispering back, “My little Jean! For your sake I can be anything.”

“Miss Beaufort is waiting. Shall I say you will come, sir?” demanded Dean, pale and grim with indignation.

“Yes, yes, I’ll come. Wait for me in the garden, Jean.” And Coventry hurried away, in no mood for the interview but anxious to have it over.

As the door closed behind him, Dean walked up to Miss Muir, trembling with anger, and laying a heavy hand on her arm, she said below her breath, “I’ve been expecting this, you artful creature. I saw your game and did my best to spoil it, but you are too quick for me. You think you’ve got him. There you are mistaken; for as sure as my name is Hester Dean, I’ll prevent it, or Sir John shall.”

“Take your hand away and treat me with proper respect, or you will be dismissed from this house. Do you know who I am?” And Jean drew herself up with a haughty air, which impressed the woman more deeply than her words. “I am the daughter of Lady Howard and, if I choose it, can be the wife of Mr. Coventry.”

Dean drew back amazed, yet not convinced. Being a well-trained servant, as well as a prudent woman, she feared to overstep the bounds of respect, to go too far, and get her mistress as well as herself into trouble. So, though she still doubted Jean, and hated her more than ever, she controlled herself. Dropping a curtsy, she assumed her usual air of deference, and said, meekly, “I beg pardon, miss. If I’d known, I should have conducted myself differently, of course, but ordinary governesses make so much mischief in a house, one can’t help mistrusting them. I don’t wish to meddle or be overbold, but being fond of my dear young lady, I naturally take her part, and must say that Mr. Coventry has not acted like a gentleman.”

“Think what you please, Dean, but I advise you to say as little as possible if you wish to remain. I have not accepted Mr. Coventry yet, and if he chooses to set aside the engagement his family made for him, I think he has a right to do so. Miss Beaufort would hardly care to marry him against his will, because he pities her for her unhappy love,” and with a tranquil smile, Miss Muir walked away.